


Real Real Sweet Part 2

by couchbarnacle



Series: Pave the Way Series [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adult!Sherlock, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid!Fic, Teen!John, Teen!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couchbarnacle/pseuds/couchbarnacle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John visits Sherlock in London! Or, well, he tries to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Real Sweet Part 2

**You do realize that I’m not actually an encyclopedia. SH**

**I know, but I’m desperate. JW**

**Don’t you have access to the Internet? SH**

**The whole network went down due to the storm. JW**

**Problem solving is a very useful skill to develop. SH**

**Are you seriously going to make me trek all the way to the nearest diner at 2am in the morning? JW**

**Of course not. I’m just a bit of a sadist. SH**

**Ha bloody ha. Now help me! JW**

**Glutamate and GABA (gamma amino butyric acid). SH**

**You’re a genius. Thank you. JW**

**I am a genius. SH**

**Modesty is one of the traits I admire most about you. JW**

**Modesty’s boring. Are you still coming to London this weekend? SH**

**That depends entirely on this research paper. I’ll let you know by Thursday. JW**

**Fine. Get some sleep. It’s counterproductive to your neural development to be up this late. SH**

**Yes, mum. I’m knackered anyway. Text you tomorrow. JW**

**Goodnight John. SH**

**Hey, are you going to be okay? I just checked the weather channel and there’s a huge storm in London as well. JW**

**I’ll be fine. Don’t fuss. SH**

**I’ll keep my phone on if you want to chat. JW**

**Now who’s being maternal? SH**

**Git. Night. JW**

0000000000000000

**Where the bloody hell are you? SH**

**You can’t possibly have gotten lost. SH**

**You’ve made this trip at least ten times. SH**

**If you’ve found some female to flirt with and have abandoned me for her, I will sew up all the opening of yours socks. SH**

**You’re an hour outside the reasonable time allotted for distance and modes at which you’ve had to travel. I’ve checked all of the weather reports and train delays for the past three hours and have found nothing of significance. Call me. SH**

**I can’t get a hold of either you or your mother. Heading to the train station now. SH**

“John?” Sherlock asked almost desperately.

“No, this Detective Sergeant Lestrade,” a tired voice said over the speaker, “This phone has been ringing almost constantly for the last twenty minutes and it was getting on my bloody nerves.”

“Where’s John?” Sherlock snarled.

“Who?” the voice asked tiredly.

“John Hamish Watson,” Sherlock bit out, “The owner of this phone. Where is he?”

“And who are you?” Lestrade asked tiredly.

“Sherlock Holmes. I’m a family friend. John was coming down to London to visit me,” Sherlock said irritated, “Now, he obviously isn’t seriously injured because you wouldn’t be so blasé about his personal belongings. Judging by your apparent apathy toward the situation, it isn’t an incredibly serious crime that he’s been detained for either. Judging by the rough and tired nature of your voice, I’d say you’ve been on desk duty for the past week or so.  An almost marathon of constant telephone chatter and chainsmoking because not only is your life insufferably dull but it’s also a punishment. What did you do wrong, DS Lestrade? Possibly a conduct violation but more likely just mouthing off to your no doubt incredibly dim superior. That must sting. But for the third and final time, before I inform your superiors that you used to use and deal drugs in your youth, what’s wrong with John?”

The line was silent except for a nervous inhale on the sergeant’s end of the line.

“Bloody hell,” Lestrade said heavily, “Let me grab the file. John H. Watson, 16. Detained regarding a physical altercation on the 2:17p train to London. Five young men involved in total, ranging from 17-22. Watson’s came out with a black eye and some bruised knuckles. The other four young men didn’t fair so well. Several of them had broken noses and one had a concussion severe enough to require medical attention. The other young men state that they were assaulted by Watson without provocation. However, Watson and several witnesses claim that the young men were harassing a few young girls, no older than 15, and that Watson stepped in to ward them off. They were all brought down to the station for questioning.”

“John’s a minor,” Sherlock bit out, “Has his mother been contacted?”

“I didn’t make the call, but the file says that she’s on her way but it’ll take a few hours,” Lestrade answered, “How in the bloody hell did you know all of that?”

“I observed,” Sherlock answered, “Problem?”

“Don’t do that again,” Lestrade answered, “Bloody unnerving.”

“The truth makes you nervous?” Sherlock asked snidely, “No wonder you lot never accomplish anything.”

“Oi!” Lestrade snapped back.

“We can continue this conversation when I get to the station, Lestrade,” Sherlock said before hanging up.

00000000000000000

When Sherlock strode into the station he veered quickly to a halt in front of Lestrade’s desk.

“Lestrade, take me to him,” Sherlock demanded.

“How did you know who I was?” Lestrade gaped.

“Aside from the cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding you, the pile of empty coffee cups, trash full of ripped up note paper, and the frankly appalling smell of vindaloo,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You have a name placard.”

Lestrade blushed fiercely before coughing awkwardly and standing swiftly to lead Sherlock to a comfortable looking waiting room. John’s pinched face relaxed quickly as Sherlock strode forward to pull him into a tight hug.

“Hey!” John said happily, “Bloody glad to see you.”

“You’ve ruined our carefully scheduled itinerary,” Sherlock said, unable to cover up the relieved cadence of his voice.

“Terribly sorry, old chum,” John mocked, “The whole weekend will have to be scrapped.”

Sherlock’s chuckle seemed to release the final knot of tension in his body, “When will he be allowed to go?”

“Oh, me again,” Lestrade said tiredly, “We still need to get a statement with John’s mom present and the other boys aren’t budging on their story. I’m afraid he’s stuck here for a while yet.”

“Show me to the room. I’m going to talk to them,” Sherlock said darkly, his entire demeanor shifting rapidly.

“The other boys?” Lestrade asked, wrongfooted, “I can’t let you talk to them. It’s against regulations.”

“That wasn’t a request,” Sherlock growled.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the authority to authorize that,” Lestrade answered.

“I’ll talk to your superior then,” Sherlock said, dismissively before striding out of the room.

“Bloody hell,” Lestrade said, collapsing next to John on the couch, “Does he do that often?”

“The grim reaper routine?” John asked, sighing happily, “When it’s necessary. You should’ve been there when he did it to my sister.”

“Terrifying,” Lestrade muttered.

“Brilliant,” John replied with a warm grin.

000000000000000

“What did you do?” John asked curiously.

“I simply extrapolated on their futures should they continue in their dim-witted choice of cover story,” Sherlock shrugged, “They saw sense after several repetitions of it. They were an incredibly dense bunch.”

“You mad genius, you,” John giggled happily, “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Sherlock answered as they reached the front doors of NSY, “Did you call your mother?”

“Yeah,” John answered, “She was just getting off her shift after finding someone to cover. She said to tell you thanks a bunch and that you’re a lifesaver.”

“Tell me that again when she gets a look at that eye of yours,” Sherlock answered with a huff.

“Lucky shot,” John answered.

Sherlock turned to pull John to a halt when they heard someone running after them.

“Sherlock Holmes!” Lestrade’s voice called out after them.

“Yes?” Sherlock drawled, “Need me to solve your crossword puzzle as well?”

“What? No,” Lestrade said, sounding confused, “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Sherlock asked sounding baffled.

“What you did back there…how you just, saw things…” Lestrade stumbled, “Incredibly useful.”

Sherlock’s unamused stare right back at him made the DS swallow and cough awkwardly before continuing.

“I just thought that you’d be, if you’ve nothing else on, I thought you should think about working here,” Lestrade continued, “You’d probably be pretty okay at it.”

“Extremely elegant, sergeant,” Sherlock said rolling his eyes, “But I’m not really the lemming type.”

“Oh,” Lestrade said, sounding slightly offended.

“What he means is,” John cut in with a reassuring smile, “He’s not the ‘taking orders from an authority figure’ type. Bit of an arse actually.”

“I take offense to that,” Sherlock huffed.

“You do not,” John answered back, relieved at the relaxing lines on the sergeant’s rather attractive face.

“Well, we’re off,” Sherlock said.

“Here,” Lestrade blushed slightly, handing Sherlock a rather crinkled business card, “If you change your mind.”

Sherlock glanced between his young friend, the sergeant and back again before nodding slightly and thanking him quietly and turning back toward the door to leave.

They walked several blocks away from the building before Sherlock observed quietly, “You liked him.”

“Fuck off,” John blushed, “I’m starving. Indian?”

“Let’s get an ice back on those bruises first,” Sherlock said, wrapping his long coat even closer around himself.

“Okay, mum,” John grumbled, knocking into Sherlock’s side gently.

“Juvenile delinquent,” Sherlock countered.

“I’m not sorry that I kicked their pathetic arses to the curb,” John said defensively.

“I’m not upset about their current humiliated, humbled, pained states of existence either,” Sherlock said, pulling the young man to a stop to meet his gaze squarely, “But I don’t like you being hurt, John.”

“I’m fine,” John shrugged, “Just a couple of bruises.”

“It could’ve been much worse though,” Sherlock said firmly, “This world is full of disorder. Anything could have gone wrong. I don’t want to see you hurt. Promise me you’ll try to be more careful.”

John’s mood grew somber at the serious stare coming from his oldest friend, “I promise.”

“Good,” Sherlock said before starting them walking again, “Your mother would kill you if you’d gotten hurt.”

“That’s for sure,” John giggled.

00000000000000000

“I can’t take this,” John whispered furtively, glancing around suspiciously and hiding the gift bag under his jacket.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock said with a dismissive wave, “Mycroft pulled some strings. It’s perfectly legal. It’s registered to you and everything.”

“A taser, Sherlock?” John said glancing one more time into the bag, “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Don’t worry,” Sherlock shrugged, “I spoke with your mother about it. She and I agreed that your protective streak and relatively diminutive frame (“Oi!” John called out.) make you an easy target for the sordid underbelly of this world. Just keep it with you just in case.”

“You both worry too much,” John said, wrapping the bag up tightly before shoving it in his carry-all.

“Hardly,” Sherlock quipped, “You’re essentially a magnet for well-intentioned chaos. Now, get going. Your train leaves in ten minutes.”

“Thanks I guess,” John said with a grin, “Can we do this again?”

“Of course,” Sherlock reassured him, “Let me know when your next long weekend is that you’re not spending with your mother and we’ll plan something.”

“Yeah,” John answered happily, “Well, talk to you soon.”

“Goodbye, John,” Sherlock said, “And try to be more careful.”

“You, too,” John said turning to catch his train.

Sherlock stayed to watch the train pull away from the station with a content little smirk on his face. He pulled out his phone and the little scrap of crumpled paper that had been sitting idly in one of the pockets of his great coat.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock barked into the phone, “I saw the details of the arson case online. If you want to find the culprit, this is what you’ll need to do…”


End file.
